


Singularity

by MistMorpheus



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: (again and again), Blood, Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 12:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18234602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistMorpheus/pseuds/MistMorpheus
Summary: It’s all wrong, I thought.





	Singularity

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at http://mistmorpheus.lofter.com/post/1d86fa96_ee8023e9 on 6 June, 2018. Upload for archival purposes.

“I just want to live.” His eyes were pleading. “Is that too much to ask?”

“If only that were true.” I sat down on a crate in front of him. The ground was quite dirty. He looked disheveled. Maybe feverish. I assumed I should feel pity. I probably would've if it weren't for his face, the way he had spoken, and the angle of the light. Right, angle. That explains a lot. Those blinds, they upset me. They always have.

“What have I done wrong this time? I've tried—”

“You sure have tried, buddy,” I said, conversationally. “You tried so hard. Have you ever thought about it another way, though? About trying, I mean. Why did you try, huh?”

“Because they—”

“‘They’,” I pointed out. “There you go. I thought you would’ve learnt that is kind of a trigger word. But look.” I saw the desperate and, well, exasperated look on his face. Way to go, buddy. Looking fucking exasperated when you’re minutes away from your own death. That’s fucking extra. I don’t hate it because it’s extra, though. “Hey. Look here. You sure did that wrong, but that’s not the reason you’re in this state, okay? Relax.”

He made a strangled little noise. I looked down at him, and he looked pretty as ever. Those lips and those eyes. They killed me.

But the angle of the light was so wrong.

I stood up and absent-mindedly strode over to the only window in the room. “Look, buddy, I know you don’t have much of a choice there. Your existence is in itself a sheer fucking tragedy, you know that? Fucking pathetic. I’m also talking about me, y’know?” I tried to peer through the blinds. The light was dazzling. It must have been a really hot day. I wished I knew. I could always check later, of course. But I wanted to know at that very moment. I really did. “You sure think it is all my fault, that you have to die over and over, don’t you? That it’s all to satisfy a fucking undying pervert’s undying fantasies for someone he himself had killed nearly a century ago? God, I can still feel the blood on my hands.” I looked down at my hands. They looked very new. I liked those hands. I went as far as putting on nail polish earlier that day. But it still felt pretty gross, recalling that particular incident. “But I didn’t call the shots, okay? You know that. You know they did.”

He was trembling on the floor. I was getting sick of that scene, but it hardly mattered considering how sick I was of everything, really. “You could tell them to stop, right? Could you tell them to stop?”

“I guess I could,” I said thoughtfully. “You know why they’re doing this, buddy? They’re trying to stabilize me. Maybe I could convince them I’m really quite stable or something. I don’t know. Do I not look stable?” I gestured at myself. He apparently wanted to speak, but I cut him short. “Anyway, I don’t see how I’m more stable killing you every other month than, well, just sans you. I can’t see why they still try, honestly. If they want me stabilized, they’d be better off shutting me in a box or something.” I turned towards one of the cameras. You won’t see them if you come in here, but of course I knew where they were. It’s some sort of a privilege. If you were me, you would also want to know every little detail there is about this room. It’s in a sense my room, after all. “Did y’all hear me? There’s always the option of a box. You don’t have to be so soft about my feelings if I finally decide to go rogue or something—I mean if all this,” I gestured vaguely around myself, “ain’t crazy enough. And you.” I walked over to him again. I really didn’t like the sight of him. Hopefully this was going to end very soon. “You know what doesn’t really help? That I myself die over and over again. It’s just fair you do the same, isn’t it?”

He was sobbing. It should’ve either broken my heart, or made my blood boil. As a matter of fact, I just felt uninterested. I knelt down beside him.

“Look, buddy. Why do you think I spend so much time spilling such bullshit each time I kill you? The only thing I want, buddy, is for you to do me one favor. Just one. Stop trying, okay? Stop trying to psychoanalyze me, stop trying to be fucking friendly to me like I deserve it, stop trying to be a lover or anywhere near it, for fuck’s sake. It’s for your own good too. It doesn’t mean anything, you know that? God, he is dead. He was dead years ago, he was dead even before he got killed, do you understand? He was gone the moment I walked into his ward and he looked at me with those empty eyes. God, I couldn’t bear it. That’s how I came to kill him, you know that?” My breath was hitching a little. “Simon Glass was gone the moment he lost his own goddamn memory, and it all ended there, period. Do you get it? You think I didn’t try to get him back? If there was one way, one single way, in this world to do that I would’ve figured it out by now, buddy. So just please, do me a favor to stop fucking trying. Everything is nothing, now. If you don’t learn this time, I will make you learn. You learn new things every time you die, y’know? If you can’t understand that now, you will. If you want to live, or you want to never open your eyes again after the next time you die, stop trying to be Simon Glass. Be a toaster, be a fucking hole in the wall, or just be a shrink as you’re programmed to. Just stop doing the pathetic things you do with that face and body, will you? You’re making killing you an immense pleasure, and the people with the bodies have been complaining about my frequency for quite a long while.”

He was breathing erratically, but he didn’t say anything. This was the first time I had been so upfront with him, and he probably felt he was placed in a dilemma. But my patience was running out.

“You’ll have plenty of time to think in the morning. Now.” I drew a knife; a delicate one. With care, I made a cut on my left wrist; droplets of blood began running rapidly down my forearm. “Let’s see what we can do with the time I’ve left, shall we?”

It’s all wrong, I thought. It was all wrong, the way the light cast shadows on his face and organs. It was such a hot and sunny day, and they would never remove the blinds.

Blood ran. The soles of my shoes were soaked. The edges of my vision blurred. My cheeks were wet, and burning.


End file.
